


Retreat

by threewalls



Series: Leave-taking [1]
Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Goodbyes, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-12
Updated: 2007-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>Richard hadn't been watching the clock, but it had been light when he asked if anyone would be very annoyed with Alec in coming weeks and it wasn't any more.</cite></p><p>Spoilers for PotS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retreat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brigdh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/gifts).



He stood at rest, his back against an overburdened bookshelf and his sword-hilt comfortably ready under his hand. Richard hadn't been watching the clock, but it had been light when he asked if anyone would be very annoyed with Alec in coming weeks and it wasn't any more. Listening to Alec rail at the nobility, he felt as he supposed Alec might feel watching him wound fireplace mouldings. Real fights never left good enough openings for impossibly perfect strikes the way practice did.

Aristocratic drawl had been Alec's habitual tone for the past several years, but it captivated Richard still as he discussed and dissected his peers. The full performance was more than his voice, more than the flash of mischievous fire in his emerald eyes or the alternation of cruelty and boredom upon his lips. He'd grown out of the pretty boy he'd been, though his wrists were still delicate, his hands still expressive. Alec's desk was very sturdy, but for once, Richard didn't want to do anything more than watch and listen. Who Alec mentioned was not as important as who he didn't. Once he cycled past each of the main branches of his least favourite noble families, including a passing gleeful mention of how cold the winter was expected to be in the North, Richard let the books bear a little more of his weight.

Contrary to popular usage, Richard was not the Duke's swordsman. He did not wear the Duke's colours, though the Duke himself wore them rarely enough. There were several other swordsmen who did wear the green and gold, all skilled in their own way, all paid handsomely to ensure the Duke's property, person and rights were respected at all times, to stand around at his wedding-- if the Duke should ever find himself ever so inclined-- and to deal with people whom he wanted alive to remember whatever point he was making at the time. Richard had killed a few people for the Duke, though their number was far, far fewer than those he had killed for Alec in the early days of their acquaintance. He had been paid for each of them separately, and still paid rent on his Riverside rooms, however titular that had become since the Duke had assumed the building. Such niceties were lost on many, or perhaps it was politics, but they liked to ask after his 'swordsman' at parties. The Duke either deliberately misunderstood them or spoke fleetingly about his 'friend', which despite his best inflection, seemed to have left everyone thinking of Richard as the sort of mistress you shared with people you wanted stabbed in their sleep. There were some interesting cartoons now and again, usually simple enough that Richard didn't need help with them. He was more thankful that people only found a man in a dress funny so often, because those ones made Alec peevish and unpleasant for days. Richard had thought he was used to the visibility of his reputation, but that had been when it had still felt like something he controlled. Myth was much harder to shed than a coat of livery.

The Duke, to his knowledge, had never suggested to anyone that Richard was no longer for hire-- if anything, he implied the opposite, as bloodthirsty as ever. Nobles didn't interrupt an insult as quickly as a Riverside man would have, and Alec had gotten much better for the practice. But, all the same, jobs had become very scarce since Alec had come up the Hill. The last man Richard had killed hadn't even been a proper job, just some fourth son come down from the country half-trained on the legend of St. Vier. He never had pleasure in their deaths, not like Alec, but Richard hadn't had any pleasure in that fight, either, realising as he wiped the blood from his sword that anyone worth fighting now couldn't be. Alec had made it better for a short while afterwards, but now the memory gnawed at him like a distant hunger. It wasn't only fourth sons he had to watch for. He almost wished he had been more insistent about teaching Alec, but they were who they were.

Alec's monologue floundered as it segued from his social calendar to how annoyed his servants might be, depending on his behaviour. He pondered his quill, and began tearing apart the strands of the plume. Engrossed, he forgot his long arms and knocked the candleholder with an elbow.

"I'm planning a journey," Richard said, in the darkness, knowing that this couldn't be put off any longer.

"How mysterious. I'd offer you money if I thought you wouldn't throw it in my face." Alec cursed creatively as he burnt his fingers on hot wax. "When are you coming back?"

When Alec righted the candle, Richard could see again, except for what he was looking at.

"I won't be."


End file.
